


They Want the World on a Dessert Spoon

by shitfacedonion



Category: South Park
Genre: Depression, Hand stuff happens but it's not really detailed, M/M, Mental Illness, Stan's POV, Unrequited Love, bullshit happens, cartman being a dildo, kenny is a good friend like always, oh drugs and alcohol, stan is pining, there's a fight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7646938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shitfacedonion/pseuds/shitfacedonion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the kind of love that would make romance authors roll their eyes and groan. </p><p>But it was all wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I edited it. There was so many mistakes, how embarrassing. I don't think I got all the grammar ones though.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The telling of bittersweet teenage love

A tune Stan doesn't recognise blares underneath mindless chatter of scattered acquaintances and close friends, barely audible but he can make out angsty breakup lyrics mingling with heavy instruments. Each word hits Stan with a strange sense of nostalgia, every syllable pin pricking his mind and leaving a sorrowful high. He isn't sure why it leaves him feeling like his most personal thoughts are on display, like the whole room somehow knows he loves a certain curly haired red head (they did though) who has his tongue down a certain fatass's throat. 

Okay, maybe Cartman isn't fat anymore, just a tub of pure muscle who can probably squish anyone with one hand (Stan would never put that theory to test), and okay maybe that's not the point. The point is that his Best friend is kissing someone who is not Him. 

The whole situation is dubious. A meteor destroying the entire planet seemed more likely at one point, but now Stan's not sure what's up and what's down. 

'You're pinning again, lover boy,'

Startled, Stan looks to his left at the tall, lanky boy beside him, 'oh fuck off.'

Kenny laughs. It's a contagious laugh and Stan can't help smiling, which really pisses him off since he just wants to stew in his self loathing, 'oh come on, we can have a few shots and you can blow and be blown by that dude over there,'

The blond boy points at a dark haired man Stan doesn't recognise, 'what the fuck dude, he's like 40,'

'Actually, he's 32 and his name is Greg. Great kisser,' 

'Yeah, right,' he rolls his eyes. 

'No I'm serious! He's really gentle, it's kind of sweet,' Kenny looks over at Greg, who's watching them- obviously aware of their conversation, 'besides, I thought you were cool with older dudes,'

'Look Kenny I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I'm just,' pause, 'just not in the mood,' glancing away, he takes a swig of cheap whiskey and off brand cola. 

'Ah well when you're done moping around you've lost your puppy. We'll be over there in that corner,' 

He responds with a lazy grunt, turning his attention back to the kissing couple. Running a hand through his hair, he gulps down the nervous lump in his throat and settles his eyes on the dark liquid in his cup. For a second he's hypnotised by the reflections on the surface, The shapes and transparency distracting him. Then he sees his eyes, tired and dark, in the liquid and the image feels foreign, almost like he's staring into the eyes of a stranger. Maybe that's just the drinks talking. Stan glances back up for a breath but there's no one in front of him. The scattered bodies migrated into a cooler room, and Kyle and Cartman probably went to find a room to preform less-than-innocent-acts (sometimes Stan imagined them hooking up but not in a sexual way, more in a self destructive, look-what-you-lost kind of way). 

The music carries him out of the room, causing him to stagger here and there. He walks through conversations, through the clouds of alcohol vapour rolling off the tongues of high school students until he's stopped by a sea of bodies. 

'Turn that depressing shit off! I wanna party not kill myself!'

Stan winces at the disembodied voice. There's a change in music; an upbeat pop song plays. He stumbles as the sea erupts into violent waves of dance. Sweaty bodies throw him back and forth until he reaches the other side, falling into the lap of one of the football players. 

'Yo, dude what the fuck!' the jock, what Stan assumes is the quarterback, yells. 

'Im sorry,' he mumbles, pushing himself up and pulling himself together as he stares into the eyes of the dark haired man named Greg. 

\---

Stan awakes the next morning naked under dirty sheets in what he assumes is the guest room in Token's basement. He's alone when he rubs the sleep from his eyes but there's a shower running in the en suite. He freezes, eyes darting to the bathroom door; a night's worth of rough sex flood his mind and he groans, covering his eyes. There's no regret hidden in the images, only a kind of empty sadness from using someone to fill the emotional void. He has been doing that a lot lately.

The water stops and Stan starts to sweat, anxious as his eyes bare holes into the white door. When the door opens, a cloud of steam billows out into the cool room, but he's not greeted with the sight of Greg or Kenny or really with anyone he'd rather it be. 

It's Cartman in all his naked glory- well almost naked. The large boy is wearing a towel that's too small for his size, 'oh good morning princess,'

Stan blushes, glaring at the slightly stained white sheets. 

'Oh don't be like that, sugar,'

Cartman always did that when he was trying to bore under Stan's skin, calling him pet names with a condescending undertone. 

'The fuck are you doing in here? Ever hear of privacy fatass?' His eyes move to that smirking face, letting his anger show on his features. 

At the insult Cartman's face falls, turning dangerous, 'all the other showers were taken, Marsh. Everyone apparently spent the night fucking, Token's party tend to do that.'

The brunet takes a seat at the edge of the bed which puts Stan on edge since he's pretty much defenceless in his naked state. 

The notorious smirk reclaims its spot on Cartman's proud face, 'I know for a fact it turned Kyle into a dirty little slut. He couldn't get enough, crying out bullshit like "oh Eric fuck me harder, cum inside me Eric oooh oooh",'

The smaller boy's stomach jerks at the thought of Kyle calling Cartman Eric, fooling him into thinking that he's going to wretch right there. An unsettling laugh booms through the room, and Stan knows that Cartman knows, and Cartman knows that Stan knows that he knows (it can go on forever). They just stare at each other in uncomfortable silence, in a mutual understanding that Kyle's perfect (Stan assumes) dick belongs to the beast that is Eric Cartman. 

'It looks like the slut plague consumed you too, baby boy. The poor little sex toy you somehow recruited to the I-fucked-Stan club was just leaving when I came in. How many is that now? The entire population of park county?' Cartman's irritating voice breaks the silence. 

'Don't be retarded, lard bag.'

'Whatever, pussy, I'm gonna go back upstairs and pound Kyle into oblivion.' There's the sound of creaking springs and shuffling of feet then he's alone, swallowing bile and lost hope. 

\---

By the time Stan brings himself to get out of bed and shower off whatever remained of last night, it's almost 2 pm. The house is empty all except for him, Kyle and Token. He's taken aback when he sees Kyle talking so casually to Token. They never seemed like the type to have one on one alone time; it's not like they have anything in common or whatever. Reality must've really got kick punched off it's axis. 

'Oh hey Stan,' Kyle's soft voice rings through his ear drums, melting flesh from his bones. A delicate smile pulls at the corners of the ginger's mouth, daring to break at any moment. Something about it makes Stan uneasy, like Kyle is pitying him because he knows Stan is arse over tit for him. but the sad reality is that Kyle knows. He has for a while, though there was never a verbal rejection- never a "sorry Stan. I don't love you". 

'Hey,' the dark haired boy replies, avoiding eye contact from the other two, 'do you need a ride home?'

'Sure, um... Are you leaving right now?' Kyle eyes him up, probably wearing that stupid expression he tends to get when he's worried. Stan tells himself that he hates it. Liar. 

'Nah, I need food and Token has the best food,' he only glances at Token, flashing the boy his best I'm-okay-I-really-am smile that's he has perfected throughout the years. 

Token laughs, 'dude, it's gonna cost you.'

'Oh I'm sure you'll survive if I ate a few pop tarts,' he shares the laugh. 

'We don't have pop tarts. What do you think this is? It's only caviar and high end fish with gold shaving up in here,' the laughter grows, making Stan feel weightless. It's almost unbearable. 

'Whatever, dude,' he chuckles, shaking his head. 

The kitchen is huge, seeming to have an endless amount of cupboards and pantries. Who needs this much space? Rich people apparently. Kenny often jokes about how the kitchen alone is bigger than his entire house. It takes a few tries to find the area with the food, and there's so much that Stan wonders how it doesn't go bad. All the selection overwhelms him so he settles on peanut butter toast- a classic. The peanut butter is an expensive brand, true peanut butter that lacks sugar and wears a layer of oil over the peanut gunk. 

Stan carries the toast back to the sitting room, deciding that he can't spend another moment in this house, that he has the sudden urge to flee ad take Kyle with him, 'dude I'm heading out now, are you coming?'

'Uh yeah sure.. Sure,' the Jewish boy's brows furrow and he stares at his knees for a moment before standing up. The two say their goodbye's and manoeuvre through the maze that is Token Black's house. 

Sun bounces off the driveway, nearly blinding Stan. They walk down the cement path, Kyle stealing a piece of toast and complaining about the plain peanut butter. It's almost charming, like it's meant to be- the two of them. However, Any outsider looking in would see snapshots of pitiful unrequited love. A silence forms as they chew crisp toast, not as comfortable as it use to be- not since an elephant stared trumpeting in the distance. The rich boy's driveway is anything but short, even curving near the end where Stan parked the night before. 

'I should have went home with Cartman,' Kyle sighs and it's the dreamy, airy kind of sigh.

'Oh,'

'But I wanted to make sure you didn't like OD or something,' a quick glance is shot in Stan's direction.

'I don't do drugs Kyle Broflovski,' 

He really doesn't. 

'But you've been popping your Xanax like candy,' 

Rolling his eyes, he scoffs, 'I'm suppose to take them when I'm depressed,'

Kyle's voice is quiet. Stan has to strain to hear him, 'you're always depressed.'

'Funny how depression works,' it comes out more sarcastic than he wanted. 

'Spare the attitude, Marsh,'

Since he started dating fatass, Kyle has picked up the habit of addressing Stan as Marsh when he's upset or annoyed with him. He's not going to lie this time, it kind of hurts.

'If you want to see Mr Dickbag, you'll have to walk,' there's bitterness coating those words that even makes Stan flinch. 

They reach The dark haired boys beaten up car, Kyle eyeing up the other boy anxiously, 'he has changed. He really has, Stan.'

'Oh like shit he has,' Stan nearly yells as he unlocks the driver side door. 

'Okay, he's still extreme, but he's different. You're still the only one with your head shoved so far up your ass that you can't see he's trying,' 

He climbs into the small, grey car, taking a breath before unlocking the passenger door. Kyle and his scent enter, making Stan dizzy. 

'Not to me he hasn't. He's still the same old Cartman. I think it's worst now actually,' he starts the car, the engine stalling once. 

'Get over yourself, Stanley, you're biased,'

'Oh fuck off, you've changed too and not in a good way,'

The car ride is silent and feels way longer than it should. A heaviness lingers in the air; a tension so thick it can be cut with a knife. When they reach the heart of the town, Stan gives in and drops Kyle off at Cartman's despite not wanting to watch his best friend walk up to the battered front door. Now that he's alone, he can think clearly, well kind of. His thoughts beat against his skull with coded messages he's too tired to decipher. So he blocks out the noise with a jingle for a ridiculous product he would never buy. 

Humming the tune, he drives around town in a trance like state, feeling oddly content. He stops at the diner for a proper breakfast of eggs and hash browns, scarfing down a few cups of coffee in the process. It's a beautiful May day- he just noticed the colours and sharp lines of buildings defining themselves against the sunlight. Somehow it makes him smile, the simple yet complex nature of it all. So many element coming together to make something nobody notices, everyone seems too preoccupied with themselves to take it all in, and that's what he does sitting in the booth of the diner. Stan takes in the way everything falls into place, how one simple thing can throw the world off balance. He can relate. 

Leaving a generous tip for the moody waiter, he departs from the cosy diner- driving and driving until he reaches Kenny's house; the boy he can confide it. He shoots Kenny a quick text before leaving his shitty car. The front door is open, which isn't unusual. He waits at the screen door, looking in at the broken house. Water stains litter the walls, cracks line the walls like vines and paint is chipping on every surface. There's a rat in the cupboard under the sink. 

'Stan my man!' Kenny chimes, flinging the screen door open- almost knocking Stan over. 

'Kenny!' He enters the house, reminded of all the good times. 

The lanky boy leads Stan right to his room, still lined with suggestive pictures of girls and some new additions of boys. Kenny has an impressive collection of Terrence and Phillip figurines on his dresser. There's a dirty mirror in the corner and Stan makes the mistake of taking a look at his reflection. He looks messy, the remnants of a hangover line his face. Flopping onto the twin sized bed, Kenny curls up beside him and pulls his tattered blanket over them. 

'Hey, I have weed,'

'Fuck yeah,' 

Kenny shifts, his warmth leaving Stan as he leans over the edge of the bed. His long arm arches under the bed, pulling out his stash of weed. He watches his friend prepare a few joints before sliding the box back and returning to his previous position. Kenny lights a joint, taking a puff then passing it to Stan. They repeat this process in silence, until they runout of joints. A heavy comfort pins him to the thin mattress like a parent's hug. A spring pokes his spine. 

'Dude I'm so high holy shit,' Kenny laughs, rumbling the mattress, 'this is some good shit,'

No reply comes from Stan, but a quiet whine escapes his body. He isn't even sure if it's real or not. They face each other, counting the stars in each other's glazed over eyes. It's honest and open, thoughts right on the surface. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, the scent of pot still swirls in the airs. 

'It's okay to let it out, y'know,' Kenny cups Stan's cheek gently. There's no romance behind the gesture, just a form of comfort. The two of them always share quick touches behind closed doors. No one else knows. 

'I'm fine,' he nuzzles the blond's forehead, 'I ate hash browns and absorbed the earth,'

'Dude you're so high,' 

They erupt with laughter. 

When it dies down, Kenny looks at him with an understanding that fills Stan up with light, 'I'm not talking about just today though. I don't want a repeat of last year,'

Stan flinches, 'I just miss Kyle is all,'

Lips meet lips in a fluid motion, 'Christ, Stan you need to forget about him.' Kenny mutters in between kisses. 

'I can't,' he squeezes the other boy tightly. 

'I know,'

There's no more conversation between the two of them, only desperate kissing and nothing more. Stan could never use Kenny like that, even if the blond has repeatedly informed that he wouldn't mind. They find comfort entwining with each other, warmth combining until it's unbearable. Neither of them want to separate for fear of having to face the reality of teenage life. 

\---

Moonlight scatters across a poster of a half naked girl straddling a motorbike. The alarm clock beside the bed reads 3 am, Kenny fell asleep an hour ago talking about space. Stan's phone vibrate's for the 7th time that night, another text from his mom wondering "where the fuck he is". He lies awake, counting the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling over and over (there's 57 stars and 3 Saturns). Depression chains him to the bed, invading his thoughts and injecting a concoction of what use to be into his veins. His mind plays through thoughts of Kyle and life when it wasn't so fucked up like a movie projected behind his tired, puffy eyes. His eyes fall close, longing for the days before things became complicated, the days before he stopped living.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fire on our Candle is dimming and I feel like a flower left unbloomed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter doesn't have the same poetic feel as the first one, which makes me sad.
> 
> I love it though

In a perfect world ice cream wouldn't melt, and the contents of the bowl Stan is fiddling with would remain solid and new. Since science won't allow such perfection, Stan is stuck with a bunch of gunk. 

'What do you think, Stan?' Wendy shifts her weight, turning away from Bebe to face him. 

He had zoned out, occupied by dipping his spoon in and out of semi frozen cream, 'about?'

'Ugh the theme for the school dance? Tropical or 60's?' Both girls look at him like he is expected to answer the question of life itself. 

'And I should care because?'

Wendy scoffs, 'this is serious Stanly!'

'Fine okay,' he pauses, acting like he's actually thinking about it, 'tropical,'

Bebe triumphantly shouts, writing a note down on their very official, school appointed clipboard. The two girls bicker back and forth for a minute, with Wendy trying to convince the two that her 60's party would be a way better choice. Eventually the flame dies down and Wendy lets it slide, changing the subject, 'so Stan are you going to the dance?'

'Have I ever gone to any dance before this?' He raises a brow, clearly confused. 

This time Bebe speaks, 'No, but We were just thinking you should. It would be fun, wouldn't it?' 

'Oh yeah it would be great fun watching Kyle and Cartman grind on the dance floor,' 

Bebe and Wendy exchange glances. Wendy speaks first, 'when was the last time you left your house?'

'2 days ago, Token's party if I remember correctly. My memory is still hazy,' 

'No, Stan, we mean,' Wendy pauses, taking the clipboard from her friend, 'when was the last time you had fun... Sober?'

Rolling his eyes, he dips his spoon into the melted ice cream, 'I have plenty of sober fun,'

'What? Like wasting the ice cream I brought over?' Bebe snatches the bowl from Stan's clutches. 

'Hey I was eating that!'

'Whatever,'

The blonde sets the bowl onto the coffee table before reclaiming the clipboard from Wendy. Stan gives the bowl an intense glare, like he could will it back to him with telekinesis, 'fine I'll go to your dumb dance,'

'Oh great!--'

'One condition though,' his eyes meet Wendy's, 'you do my calculus homework for a week,'

'Um no I most certainly won't do that. How are you suppose to learn the content?' She says, folding her arms and looking at him like a disappointed parent, 'I'll tutor you for the rest of the year. Sound good?'

'Yeah whatever dude,'

\--- 

Later that night, he's alone in his bed on the verge of sleep when his phone vibrates, echoing throughout his room. It takes him a moment to search it out in the dark; the screen nearly blinds him when he hits the lock button. His blurry eyes scan the screen, focusing on the notification on the texting app. Yawning, he clicks the green button and is surprised to see an unopened message from Kyle Broflovski. It takes his tired mind a few tries to absorb the words then he's reading the words over an over to make sure he isn't hallucinating. "Cartman and I fought. Are you home?" 

Part of him wants to say no, to just go to sleep and have Kyle be as miserable as he is. But that's petty, Stan isn't. His thumbs subconsciously start to type, seeming to move while he's still trying to decide. "Ya I am" his thumb hovers over the send key for a moment. His phone lights up as his message sends, and immediately his phone buzzes. "Cool I'm outside".

All his energy goes into pulling himself into a sitting position. Slumping over, he runs his hands through the bed head he calls hair- taking a peak out his window at the curly haired boy who's peering up at him. Stan waves. There's no time to return it; He's already half way down the stairs, almost tumbling down the steps a few times. It's dark but he can make everything out, almost colliding with the silhouette of the side table. He fumbles with the lock, and Kyle is the one to throw open the door. Stan can't see him, but he can tell that Kyle is upset (worse of all because of Cartman). An unwanted negativity fills the air. 

'Dude,' Kyle's voice wavers, almost cracking. 

'Um yeah?' 

There's some sniffling then Kyle's cold fingers wrap around his wrist, and he's being lead upstairs to his own bedroom. It amazes him how easily Kyle can move through the dark maze, even though it shouldn't. Kyle flops onto the mattress, and Stan is scared the noise will wake his parents. The redhead is still sniffling, which makes Stan uncomfortably stare at the lamp on his bedside table. Flicking it on, his eyes sting as a dim light floods the room- outlining their features carefully. In the light, Kyle's eyes are puffy and red, cheeks appearing slightly sticky from old tears. He only catches a glimpse of the pretty face before he's pulled down into Kyle's embrace- greeted with a face full of red curls. Suddenly he can't breathe. 

'I'm so sick of his bullshit,' Kyle's sniffles slowly turn into stifled cries, 'sometimes I wonder if the good times are even worth it,'

Stan swallows hard, 'yeah?'

The boy nods, gripping Stan tightly, 'but they are. They're so good. The way he's trying and then I realise I can't leave him because he's trying to be a better person for me,'

'Oh,'

'I can't leave him. I won't hurt him,' Kyle wipes his eyes on Stan's shirt. He doesn't mind, 'couples are supposed to fight, right?'

Not like Kyle and Cartman do though. 

'Yeah,' 

'Yeah. It's healthy. But I don't know what to do Stan, I don't!' Kyle says a little too loud. 

Resting his cheek on top of the curls, he mutters, 'leave him,' 

It's wasn't suppose to be said, an escaped thought and it makes Stan freeze. Kyle tenses, pushing him away. An irritated expression contorts Kyle's features as he stares at the floor, 'I'm not doing that,'

'Oh,'

'Is that all you have to say? "Oh"?'

'I guess?' He can't take his eyes off his best friend's face. 

'You guess? Well I guess it was a fucking mistake coming here then,' he stands up, heading to the bedroom door. 

'What am I suppose to say though?' Stan's voice sounds pleading, like he wants Kyle to guide him, 'I can't defend Cartman to you. you know I can't. I can't justify his behaviour to you. Fuck! I can't even say if he loves you,'

'He loves me,' 

'Does he?'

Kyle is hesitant; Stan can tell by the way he fiddles with the hem of his jacket, 'yes,'

'Kyle....'

'Shut up, Stan,' it's not angry, but broken. He won't -can't- push the subject any further, for Kyle's sake, despite how much he wants to dissect it. He just wants Kyle to understand. The other boy remains facing the door, shaking and holding back sobs. The whole sight of it Stan would of label pathetic if it was anyone but Kyle. Ignoring the boulder in his stomach, he cautiously wanders over to Kyle. They're millimetres apart, some parts of them brushing together. Stan waits a moment, seeing if Kyle flinches (he doesn't). Kyle seems expectant, as if he's waiting for Stan to hold him, so he does. The dark haired boy wraps his arms around Kyle's waist, pulling him close and squeezing him against his torso. 

'What do you think you're doing?' Kyle asks, even though he has his arms tightly wrapped around Stan's neck. 

'Comforting you,' he guides them back to the bed. 

'Do you only know physical comfort, Stanley?'

'Yes,'

They sit like that for a while, but it's anything but comfortable. Stan's mind wanders over to thoughts of holding Kyle like this under different circumstances; he would grovel in it- cherish it. They absorb him until Kyle's voice snaps him back into his unfavourable reality, 'are you going to the dance tomorrow?'

Stan raises an eyebrow quizzically, 'why is everyone asking me that like I've been to every other school dance?'

'Answering a question with a question. Nice dude,' 

He rolls his eyes, 'yeah. Wendy and Bebe ganged up on me,'

'I know,' Kyle's voice is lighter, flowing around Stan's head, 'she texted me. I think she felt accomplished that she got brooding Stan Marsh out of the house,'

'Okay, also, why does everyone act like I don't leave my house?'

'You don't very often,'

'Whatever,' he laughs but it's forced. There's no point in going out when Kyle is always latched onto his boyfriend's buff arm. 

'That's why Cartman and I fought,' Kyle pauses, moving so he can glance up at the other, 'I told him you were going to the dance and I very politely informed him that he couldn't suck my face off in your presence,'

'You don't have to do that--'

'He got pissy and told me not to worry about you being a pussy,'

'You shouldn't,' 

'He's just really insecure and afraid that I'll leave him for you or something. That's insane,' Kyle shakes his head like the idea is ridiculous. Then he's crying again. 

An unsaid "would you though" lingers in the air, and Stan is scared that Kyle will breath in deep enough to read his inner most thoughts. He tenses, 'and he calls me the pussy ha..ha..'

'What do you expect from Eric though?'

He groans, knowing how easily Cartman's name rolls off of Kyle's tongue feels like a punch to the gut. The urge to flee washes over him again, but this time he wants to run from Kyle, from South Park and all it's shitty storylines. None of them are ever in Stan's favour. Silence fills the room again (except for the occasional sob) and he's worried that this is a sign of impending doom (the impending doom being the dulling flame of friendship). It used to be so natural being Kyle's friend. 

\--- 

Sunlight drenches the room in a livelihood Stan wishes would transfer into his body. Today he feels like becoming one with the wind. Maybe this is when the breeze will carry him through the winding paths that intimidate his well being. When he woke this morning, some part of him half expected Kyle to still be by his side in all his morning glory. But the flower that is Kyle died by Stan's side, only to bloom again somewhere else (probably Cartman's). Stan swears he can still smell the boy's petals. He tries not to be too disappointed. Noon comes and goes with a gentle bitterness that informs him that productivity today is futile, that getting out of bed was not in the agenda. 

Throughout the day his mom checks in on him; there's always an excuse: "do you have any laundry?" "I'm doing the dishes, jut checking for cups." etcetera, etcetera. He knows, though, that she's just checking to make sure that he hasn't offed himself or something. 

Around 4 pm he's informed that Kenny and Butters are at the door requesting his quote unquote wonderful presence. Before he can get himself dressed, his room is filled with the loud voice of Kenny and Butters's timid enthusiasm. 

'Fucking Stan my man!'

'Hey beautiful,' Stan manages a smile as he pulls down his boxers. Butters squeals in embarrassment, covering his face. He has no problem changing in front of his friends. 

'Holy shit! That ass! My weak boy brain can't handle such a perfect sight,' Kenny is blunt, always straight to the point. 

He wiggles into a fresh pair of pants, feeling refreshed by Kenny's immaturity. That boy is like a walking source of life support and Stan is a leech. 

'Oh dear is Stan's tush all covered?' Butters peeks through his fingers nervously. 

'No one says tush dude and unfortunately yes. That fine ass is hidden,' Kenny huffs. 

On the way out the door, Stan gives his mom a kiss on the check while she lists all of her usual rules that he'll ignore: No smoking, No drugs, No drinking, No hanging out in the forest past dark (that's where the murderers are she says), and be home by midnight. He listens with the sound of Kenny snickering behind him, too quiet for her to hear. It feels like an eternity when he's finally able to leave (after one last hug of course).

The town is alive with people trying to get home from work, and Stan bumps into a few less-than-friendly types. So he takes to following behind the other two, listening in occasionally to what they're saying as he observes every crack in the dirty, gum layered side walk. 

Apparently the plan for the afternoon before the dance wasn't to get wasted at the fire pit. Instead they're in the middle of the high school gymnasium with Wendy's charts and checklists being handed out to each poor soul, ready for a night of completely sober conversation. Oh god, they're here to set up. Stan winces. He reads over the list that has everyone's duties written in pretty letters. Setting up cardboard trees and hanging balloons is written beside Stan Marsh. When this is over he's going to murder Kenny for volunteering him- he swears it. That bastard. 

For the amount of students Wendy and Bebe somehow tricked into helping, they were still setting up when the first wave of partiers arrived. By 8 o'clock the gym is full of hormonal teenagers, the air becoming toxic with body sweat and teenaged adrenaline. The only safe zone is around the perimeter, where the wallflowers breed anxiety in the gallons. Stan becomes one with the fake trees, feeling oddly content under the immortal leaves. The music makes his entire nervous system jerk and twitch, really fearing that his heart will give out from that not so killer baseline. 

'What are you doing over here all by yourself? This isn't what I meant when I agreed to tutor you,' Wendy is frowning at him in a mock malicious manner. She grabs his wrist in by no means gentle and leads him right into the heart of the dance floor. Here the stench of youth burns the soul, leaving lungs charred and shrivelled. Where are the gas masks? 

The crowd is gyrating in ways that can't be physically impossible, and he's so fascinated that he forgets to join in on the fun. His eyes glance over Wendy, her pink sundress twirls with every flick of her hips. The girl smiles at him, entwining their fingers. For her Stan joins in. Despite it being half assed and unenthusiastic, her smile doesn't faultier one bit; she knows he's trying, she really does. An involuntary smile overrides his mouth, fuelling him with the energy to move along with the beat- no effort required. At one point he's laughing, nearly toppling them both over. It's so surreal, dreamlike that Stan doesn't care. His mind is free. 

'That's the spirit!' Wendy shouts over the music, throwing both her fists in the air as she starts to sing along. 

He mingles with the other body's, feeding off their energy until it feels like he's floating aimlessly through the crowd right into The human giant known as Cartman. 

'Well well well look what the cat dragged in,' Cartman's booming voice echoes over the music. 

'Who the fuck even says that anymore dude?'

The boulder is taken aback by the nonchalant response from Stan, 'well I'm bringing it back, sugar pie,'

'It won't catch on dickbag,' he laughs, patting The brunet on his shoulder, which visibly makes him seethe, 'oops'

'So a little birdy told me that Kyle stumbled into your house at 3 am last night,'

There's a change of tone in the larger boy's voice that alarms Stan, 'that little birdy is a fucking liar,'

'The birdy's name is Kyle,'

'Well it was only because you were being a dick,' Stan shrugs.

'I swear to god Marsh if I find out that you ever come onto to him i will end You and Your family. Got that?' Cartman's threat leaves Stan shaken, his stomach twisting around itself. Those piercing blue eyes leave no trace of doubt. Don't fucking mess with Eric Cartman.

Pulling himself together, he coughs to hide the tremor in his voice, 'stop being so goddamn insecure or you'll push him right into my arms again,'

'The fuck did you just say Marsh?!'

'I had to comfort your sobbing boyfriend at 3 in the fucking morning because you're a insecure piece of shit,' he flinches when Cartman raise his gorilla sized hand. 

'Whatever! At least I'm not a--'

The obnoxious, booming voice is interrupted by Kyle's presence. A smirk forms on Cartman's ugly mouth as he pulls the ginger close and gives him a wet, sloppy kiss on the mouth. Okay, maybe that did put a slight dent in his mood and maybe he couldn't compose himself in time before Cartman's beaty little eyes could see, which means he now has the upper hand. 

'Eric what did I tell you?'

'Not my fault Stan's a pussy,' he winks, pinching Kyle's bum as he stares holes into Stan's pupils. Kyle blushes and squeaks. 

'Fuck you don't be an asshole!' He playfully slaps Cartman's chest before turning to Stan, a sympathetic expression prominent on his face, 'you actually showed,'

'Uh yeah... I came' Why is that a surprise? 

'You know who's going to come later tonight?' Cartman says, pausing for dramatic effect as Kyle shoots him a glare promising death, 'Kyle Broflovski,'

'Last warning!'

'Then what? We go home and I can fuck you good and hard for even longer?'

Oh that's why. 

Durning their bickering there's a change in the atmosphere as a slow, romantic tune rings through the gym. Their expressions soften, Cartman holds out his hand and takes Kyle away from Stan, tearing him away like an old bandaid. He can't help but watch the couple twirl and embrace, and when they lean in to kiss, Stan imagines it's him loving Kyle. Fuck they look so in love. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turns to leave but he collides with someone. The smell of Kenny fills his nose, and for a millisecond he's calm. The lanky boy spins them both around the floor, burying his face in Stan's hair whilst whispering sweet nothings in his ear to distract him, but he can't bear to rip his eyes from from the twirling couple in the middle of the gym- from Kyle Broflovski and all his beautiful glory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave feedback please! :-)
> 
> If the scene changes feel awkward it's cause I'm not following a plot. I reread it and they feel weird to me
> 
> Also I swear next chapter we'll dive into Kyle and Cartman's relationship more. So look foreword to that


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are all I have these days, shake it up and run away  
> With the night squabbling behind you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didnt expect this to be so long, oh boy.

Stan exits the gym, cool air hitting his cheeks. Muffled music plays in the background; he's not leaving or anything (Wendy would kill him), he's just fumbling for his pack of cigarettes with hands that feel like they're about to catch on fire. The pack is warped a bit from being carelessly shoved into his sweater pocket time after time again, but the smokes inside remain untouched. Stan plops the end of one into his mouth, lights it and breathes in the cherry flavoured smoke slowly. The taste isn't appealing in the slightest, but Kyle likes them. Buying them has just become a habit now, like running a hand through his hair or biting his lip when he's thinking; a second nature kind of thing. It's a clear night, and the stars sparkle above in a way that holds Stan's gaze. There's nothing else to stare at in the school's parking lot- expect scattered cars. It, like the rest of the town, bears dull, mundane qualities trying to hard to be urban without trying to be obvious about it (it totally is though). The gym doors open, sending a wave of dance music through the nearly empty lot. He turns his attention to the unwanted disturbance; a sweaty, tired looking Kyle comes stumbling through the door, immediately taking a deep breath of fresh, clean air. Stan tenses, awkwardly puffing on his smoke, but he can't take his eyes off the other boy who is trying to not make it obvious that he has seen Stan (it totally is). Kyle stops a foot away from him, leaning against the same brick wall- so close yet still somehow so far. 

The boy's ears redden, from embarrassment or frustration Stan isn't sure, 'I just came out here to bum a smoke off you. Got it?'

Before Stan can hand Kyle a red cigarette, the ginger steals his, and takes a giant cloud of smoke into his lungs. The contrast of Kyle's pale fingers and dark red paper leaves Stan breathless for a second, maybe two but who's keeping count. They pass it back and forth,like old times, with Kyle gradually moving closer and closer until their shoulders bump together. Kyle hooks his arm around Stan's elbow, leaning all his weight onto the dark haired boy. He reeks of alcohol. 

'Are you drunk?' Stan gives in and rests his cheek on Kyle's mop of curls. 

'Mmm yeah, Craig and Clyde spiked the punch,' he laughs. 

'Wendy is going to be pissed off,' 

'She's drunk too,' 

Kyle turns his head so he's gazing up at Stan through glazed over eyes. There's a fondness in those green eyes that makes Stan's heart ache, and for a second, only a second, it feels like they might kiss. He has to look away, glancing at a chain link fence across the way. 

'Stan,'

'What?'

'Look at me,'

'What, why?' He starts to sweat, or he fears that he is. Everything has gotten so hot. 

'You always look at me. I don't think you need a reason,' his nose brushes against Stan's cheek. 

'Fuck, Kyle, just look at the stars or something,'

There's a whine then Kyle's hand lightly cups Stan's cold cheek, turning his head so he's staring at green eyes once again. But he lets Kyle keep his hand there, he's weak in every sense. His fingers feel soft and gentle against Stan's cheek, making him gulp down nerves. They brush against his cheekbone, over his lips, across his jaw and down his neck. 

'What are y--'

Stan is interrupted by soft lips and the rancid taste of unorganised spiked punch. For a moment, his feelings take over and he wraps an arm around Kyle's waist, pulling him tight against his torso. He's kissing his best friend back with no restraint, no control, and it's great, amazing, better than anything he could ever imagine (what a sap). It's real and raw, but the stench of alcohol becomes too much. Stan remembers that Kyle is drunk; that he has a boyfriend; that his boyfriend is Cartman who will literally kill him; and that no matter how much he wants Kyle, this is wrong- so wrong. The moan that comes from Kyle pulls him from the clouds, and Stan pushes him away, gasping for breath, 'what the fuck are you doing Kyle?'

Kyle looks confused, staring intensely into Stan's eyes like he's looking for answers, 'I thought you wanted this,'

'I do, but look at you! You're totally pissed!' Stan lowers his voice, 'and you're not exactly single either,'

'I just wanted to help you feel better,'

'And you think this will? When your precious Cartman has threatened to kill me if this exact situation were to happen,' he rubs his eyes with the palms of his hand, 'which it has, but it's your fault. You kissed me. Please don't tell him. I swear if you tell him--'

'Stan,'

'No, Kyle, shut up. Just shut up,'

'Stan, listen--,' the red head reaches up to touch his cheek again. 

'No, I'm serious. You should probably get back inside before Cartman starts to get too agitated,'

'Fine. But This doesn't mean I like you, Marsh,' Kyle drops his hand, giving Stan his best bitchface before walking off with enough attitude to fuel New York City. It hurts, but Stan watches him go, wondering if Kyle will regret this. He probably will; who is he kidding? 

'Fuck,' he rubs his eyes again, this time to keep from crying. He sniffles just once, lighting another cigarette. It's silent and peaceful for a while. Stan thinks he sees at least three constellations but he could be wrong. The quiet is disrupted by muffled music becoming clear. His stomach drops. He quickly glances at the doors, but it's not Cartman (thank god), or Kyle, or Kenny- not even Wendy. He's being stared down by the piercing gaze of Kenny's adult friend, Greg. 

'You can't smoke out here,' the man points at the slightly dirty no smoking sign. 

'And you're here because?' He takes a drag of the smoke, keeping his eyes glued to those dark eyes. 

'Chaperoning,' 

'Oh,'

Greg moves closer, until he's as close as Kyle was earlier. It makes Stan uncomfortable, only because he's shorter than Greg and it makes him feel like a child. They don't say anything, just stare in a standoffish way until Stan gives in, running his hand up Greg's side agonisingly slow. 

'Maybe we should leave. Go back to your place or drive to Stark's pond,' he mumbles in his best seductive voice. 

Stan knows he has the upper hand now; the man's eyes somehow become darker, more dangerous. There's no answer right away so Stan squishes their torsos together as he nuzzles Greg's jawline all but gently with his nose. A pleasant reaction is pulled from the older man, a sharp inhale that makes him tense up. 

'Well? Do you want to?' Stan's mouth barely grazes Greg's neck, teasing the skin. 

In a swift motion, he's dragged away from South Park High into the parking lot. He has no time to collect his thoughts as he's shoved into the back of a 2010 Corolla. Greg crawls over him, hovering way too close but not close enough. It's hot, excruciatingly hot, inside the car, and Stan can't breathe properly. He entwines his fingers in Greg's hair, smashing their faces together. Their kisses are rushed and desperate, fuelled by lust, and all too soon Stan is a squirming, whimpering mess. 

'Look at you,' the man's voice turns deeper than Stan thought possible, making him feel small and fragile. 

'Look at you,'

Stan is overcome with an overwhelming dizziness that burns the pit of his stomach. The younger boy bucks his hips in hopes to come in contact with any kind of friction, but the attempt proves pointless. His arms are pinned to the seat as a heavy weight on his lower body keeps his hips from moving, 'look at you,'

A pathetic whine is pulled from Stan, causing him to flush an incriminating shade of scarlet. Greg smirks, reminding Stan of Cartman's devious grin, 'ah that's the thing with teenagers, you guys lose control.. So quickly,'

One of the man's hand find their way to the crotch of Stan's pants, barely touching the fabric, yet it makes his back arch of the seat, 'you fuck teenagers often?'

Greg responds with a half assed snort, palming him through the fabric of his jeans- each movement becoming rougher. Stan's breath falls short, coming out to quickly and he's afraid he might pass out. His entire body is consumed by a pleasant-bordering-painful tingle, and he has to bite his lip hard to keep quiet. A hand finally frees his aching erection from his jeans, wrapping it in a warmth that's so excruciating. The hand begins to move painfully slow, and Stan's mind flicks to images of Kyle. He tries to blink them away, to focus on the man in front of him, but his body practically moans at the thought of Kyle touching him so gently, teasing him until he's completely absorbed by pleasure. Closing his eyes, he's transported to the backseat of his car with Kyle on top of him, slowly taking his dick into that perfect mouth. Plump lips stretch around the shaft, engulfing it completely. 

'I barely even touched you--,'

The voice is far too deep to be Kyle's. His eyes fly open, flinging him back to the sweaty backseat of the Corolla.

'And you came,'

Stan is too out of it to be embarrassed, only moaning as a response. 

'You called me Kyle. Is he the one who broke your heart?'

It takes everything he has not to slither away, to shrink into nothing, 'yeah. Fuck him,'

He only catches a glimpse of Greg's twisted smirk before he's flipped onto his stomach, in a rough movement. He's winded for a moment, but he has no time to catch his breath; a finger slides inside him, causing his body to burn with lust. The weight over him shifts, pinning him down once again.  
Licking the shell of Stan's ear, Greg whispers in that husky voice that drives the teenager crazy,

'You're going to get it hard tonight, Slut,'

\---

Kyle completely cut himself out of Stan's life, poorly following the dotted line around his body with dull safety scissors. After the dance things were different- weird. He avoided Stan like the plague, only catching the occasional glance of those green eyes. They looked frightened, maybe not that extreme but nervous. A week ago the ginger texted Stan a "I think we need some space" text, nothing else. So he ran. Nowhere special, he didn't leave South Park or travel to an alternate dimension. He spent the week hiding in Greg's bed, forgetting Kyle, everyone, everything and anything he could. 

He might be falling in love, or maybe he's just lonely. 

A heavy comforter covers Stan from head to toe, causing his cheeks to turn rosy pink. He peeks out at Greg, biting his lip and taking it between his teeth. Rain hits the window in a soothing rhythm, filling the room with a calming aroma. Stan reaches for his phone for something to fidget with, pretending to check the messages. The man in front of him sits on the edge of the bed, kissing Stan's exposed face gently, 'go out today okay?'

He grunts, lazily side eying Greg, which earns him an eye roll, 'I'm serious. Let everyone know you aren't dead,'

'Fine. Fine,' he dismisses the other with a wave. 

'I'll text Kenny later so you won't be able to lie about it,'

'How cruel,'

'In fact,' Greg snatches his phone from his hands, typing out a message before handing it back, 'I just texted Kenny for you. He'll be picking you up in an hour. You're welcome.'

'Fuck I hate you,'

The older man laughs, stifling it as he kisses Stan on the lips. They exchange quick, deep kisses for a little too long before Greg leaves Stan alone once again. After a shower and some gummy bears Stan feels he can take on the world. He flops onto the leather couch, staring out the rain covered window at trees and a lonely road. Greg lives on the outskirts of town in a cosy little bungalow big enough for two. It has a classy grown up feel that's appealing to him in some sense. Everything's white though, and he's afraid that his messy habits will stain every surface- that's the only thing Stan doesn't get the appeal of.  
As promised Kenny shows up soaking wet, smiling and hugging Stan way too tightly. When he left, he didn't tell anyone- not even Kenny- where he was going. 

'So this is where you ran off to,' Kenny's loud voice echoes in the small house. 

'Uh yeah,'

A smirk grows on Kenny's mouth, 'getting biiiiizz-ay?'

'Um no I haven't been "getting busy",'

'No no it's pronounced bizz-ay when you're getting it on!'

'Whatever. I haven't been getting it on,' he rolls his eyes, 'I'm just crashing here until I decide I wanna go back,'

'By the looks of that blush you are a filthy liar,' Kenny pokes Stan's cheek. 

Frowning, Stan rubs his warm, apparently pink, cheek. Kenny looks at him with a knowing look then flings an arm around the dark haired boy's shoulder, 'Your secret's safe with me, lover boy.'  
\---

They arrive under the overpass, a popular hangout spot for high school students. It's the only place (besides the forest) where the teenagers can truly be away from adult interventions. The pavement is littered with empty beer tins, cigarette butts, and hint of adolescent self destruction- The ideal background image for a melancholic quote about depression. Stan prefers the forest over this metallic smelling destination: the canopy of tree branches overhead, the feel of dirt under shoe soles, the smell of nature, and a mild sense of adventure, like when they were kids. Anything was possible then. Kids yell over the sound of the occasional roaring engine, pick fights to impress girls, drink cheap booze and bum each other's smokes. It's everything less than romantic, like an indie film meant to portray the true life of the American teenager. 

This is why he ran; the constant pressure of fitting in, never failing, and there's never any wiggle room to adjust the metre. To them it's black and white, right and wrong- fuck up once and Bam! bye bye birdy. They want the world without lifting a finger, break and the fragile mind becomes useless- or so they say. With the road to success paved with failure, newbies are only set up to break. Adults try to save the youth without leaving their own bubble, spewing bullshit without listening- as if they weren't young and scared once. 

Stan swallows his anxiety and tries his best to clear his head, knees shaking as he walks towards the loud crowd. He wipes his sweaty palm on his jeans when the crowd stops to stare at him. Kyle catches Stan's eye, and he can sense the worry turned relief coming off the other in waves. He might feel a bit guilty. When the novelty of Stan's return wears off, the crowd goes back to mingling with each other but Kyle's eyes remain fixated on Stan- each green iris speaking chapters. Coughing, Stan looks away to Kenny who's chatting up some brunette. Looks like he has been abandoned by his only distraction, so like a fool he gives in and walks over to Kyle and prepares for a bombardment of questions. But to Stan's utter surprise, the boy remains quiet. He just stares, looking for answers in slightly tired eyes.

He's just about to speak when the red head blurts out, 'where the fuck did you go?'

'Nowhere extraordinary,'

'Be serious Stan. I was so worried,' Kyle looks like he might cry. 

'I just needed a break from life I guess,'

'I - we- thought you..,' he pauses, reaching out to touch Stan's arm, 'did something stupid,'

He moves away from Kyle's grip, 'oh,'

'Why didn't you tell us?'

'Didn't want to be found,' 

'Oh,'

'You said we needed space,'

'Not like this,' Kyle says. 

So much remains unsaid between them but he's too anxious to bring it up. He fiddles with the frayed hem of his sweatshirt, picking at the strings. Kyle watches him, feeling the mood change. Both of them pretend the other doesn't exist, and somehow Stan feels content this way. It frightens him so he panics. 

'I fucking love you dude,' 

'I know,' Kyle says, way too quietly. 

'Please don't leave me,'

Kyle just stares at Stan's hands, looking like he might vomit, 'I don't think we can go on this way though,' 

'Oh,'

'I care about you, I really do and that is why I can't do this to you anymore,' Kyle looks up but avoids Stan's eyes, keeping his gaze on the boy's forehead. 

'Kay,' 

'I need to know you'll be okay,'

'I won't,'

The ginger shakes his head, glancing away from Stan and wipes one of his eyes with the back of his hand. The sight makes him angry that Kyle has the the audacity to almost cry. He scoffs crossing his arms. He was the idiot that had to fall in love with his best friend, 'whatever dude,'

Kyle looks hurt by his sudden change of attitude, 'I just -- I just think that if we keep hanging out it'll make things worse. I'm trying to help you,' 

'Like you were at the dance? Save it, leave already. Your boyfriend's looking for you,' he nods in Cartman's direction, who is searching the crowd for a certain red head. 

Without another word or one last glance, Kyle walks away from him right into the arm of Cartman. The hug is tender, and Cartman runs his hands over the smaller boy's back- probably an act of comfort. Suddenly Stan wants to disappear, to be ripped away and thrown into one of his daydreams where Kyle loves him instead of Eric fucking Cartman. God, they look so good together. They converse with the crowd, Cartman's giant hand holds onto Kyle's side, making him seems small and dainty, but Kyle smiles at the huge boy in a way that leaves Stan swallowing a lump in his throat. It's pure admiration. How did Cartman do it? How did he win Kyle after years of abuse? Life must be rigged, and he got the short end. He watches them in the unhealthy almost obsessive way he usually does, floating through conversation to conversation on auto pilot. It's all the same questions, feigned concern and worry he might actually snap this time (Kenny told him that the kids have a bet on when he'll finally have a full blown mental breakdown. He scoffed). 

Stan can't seem to find Kenny, and Wendy isn't there so he's left with no life source to latch on to. He settles with Butters, who seems more than happy to talk to Stan about Kyle. 

'Oh gosh Stan but they're so cute together,' 

'Fuck you Butters that is definitely not why I started talking to you' Stan puffs on a cherry flavoured smoke. He really needs to start buying a different brand. 

'No really, look at them. Cartman's a total softy when they're together. He gets all flushed when Kyle says something cute,' 

Stan rolls his eyes. That comment doesn't warrant a response, but through his denial he can see that it's true. Cartman's a gentle giant when Kyle's by his side: soft touches that linger a little too long, red cheeks after quick pecks on cheeks. It's like it came out of a romance story, fucking disgusting, cheesy love that makes everyone groan, and Stan longs for it, 'again fuck you Butters,'

'I don't get why you're opposed to it Stan. Cartman's changed,' 

'Because I'm in love with Kyle?' Stan scoffs. It was obvious wasn't it? Everyone knows, but then again Butters isn't very observant. 

'Oh,' the blond sighs, but then it looks as if he had a life changing epiphany, 'OH! Gee I'm sorry,'

'Tell me about it,' he rolls his eyes. 

The two sit in silence, watching the couple laugh at each other's jokes and exchange not-so-subtle touches. Cartman's toying with him, he knows it. There's no way he can be genuine; he can't feel love, can he? This is to perfect. What happened to the Cartman that punched Kyle in the face in 9th grade because Kyle called him lard bucket one too many times? Stan shifts uncomfortably, because Cartman couldn't have grown up that fast. Despite his better judgment, Stan storms over there with a confrontation burning his tongue, 'what's your fucking deal anyway?'

The crowd becomes dead silent because Stan is anything but quiet. The high schoolers around listen with anticipation, ready for a fight. Craig is already taking bets at one corner. Both Kyle and Cartman stare at him with an expression of confusion, but Cartman is the one to speak, 'um about what?'

'I don't know. Maybe about you two?'

'Well I don't know what to tell you, but when two people love each other very much they decide to spend all their time together. I didn't think you were this stupid, Stanley,' Cartman's ugly smirk makes Stan seethe.

'You know what I fucking mean,'

'Oh my god. You actually think this about you?' His booming laughter bounces off the cement pillars, 'fuck you're even stupider than I thought,'

'Cartman,' Kyle sounds pleading, silently asking him not to start a fight. 

'Hey it's not my fault that he needs to have it spelt out for him,' Cartman pauses, clearing his throat, 'Stanley Marsh; Kyle Broflovski and I, Eric Cartman, are in love and you need to stop pinning after what's not yours,' 

The red head lowers his head in embarrassment; his face the same shade as his hair. The knowing gleam in Cartman's eyes ignites a flame in the pit in Stan's stomach, 'did you tell him to stop hanging out with me?'

'I would never do such a thing!' But the look on Kyle's face says different. The flame flickering inside him awakes a monster that commands him to attack and that's what he does. Stan launches himself at the giant, knowing full well that he had less than no chance winning, but rationality went out the door the day Kyle did. The other boy only scoffs, and in one graceful movement, pins Stan to the pavement. He's winded, without a chance to fill his lungs before Cartman slams his oversized fist against Stan's cheek- not once, not twice, but three times like clockwork. The crowd erupts in a sea of excitement, chants and cheering. Kyle screams at Cartman to stop, trying to yank the large boy away. Someone shouts, 'you fucking owe me 50 bucks!' In the background. It's Craig. 

Cartman pins him to the cement, whispering in his ear with a voice layered in hate, 'you fucking had him, but you lost your chance. Don't fucking come near him again or you won't like what I'll do to you,'

The weight is lifted from him when Cartman stands- he gasps for air. The brunet growls through his teeth, 'it'll be worse than this,'

Then the crowd disperses, not knowing if they should leave or continue their social interaction like nothing happened. Awkward conversations break out amongst them, some about the fight, some about weekend plans. Stan lies there staring at the sky as the salty taste of blood fills ups his mouth. His cheek throbs. In the distance he hears Kyle yelling at Cartman, but he's to dizzy to make out the words. Somehow he finds comfort in Kyle's voice, though it fills him up with guilt as it soothes him. There's a quiet rumble in the clouds, and it's raining again- each drop a note in a melancholic melody. He's being lifted, and in his dazed state he's left confused- somewhat disappointed by the help.

'Shit Stan,' Kenny says, holding Stan up under the arm. There's someone else on his other side, but doesn't care enough to find out who. He just wants to evaporate into the air and mix with the rain. The two carry him away from the crowd; everyone stares at him as he passes, whispering to each other. This is probably going to be the talk of the town for the week, the dramatic conclusion. To what? He doesn't know. 

\---

It turns out the other body steadying him is Butters. Of course. The shy boy lets Stan lean against him as Kenny wipes the dried blood from his numb face in a public restroom, 'fuck, Stan, what did you do?'

Stan winces when he dabs at the bruising flesh, groaning.

'I swear I didn't know Cartman was going to show up,' Kenny says, 'I shouldn't have left you,'

'Oh gee Kenny it's not your fault!' Butters responds when Stan doesn't. 

'Right,' The blond's voice comes out in a whisper. 

Stan blacks out after that, waking up on Greg's white, leather couch 30 minutes later. His head pounds as he sits up, screaming at him to lie back down. Through squinted eyes he looks around, searching his surroundings for clues. Kenny sits across from him on a recliner, laughing at the tv despite the worry evident on his face. There's no sign of Butters, thank god. 

'My head,' he mumbles, squeezing the bridge of his nose. 

'Oh! You're awake,' the other jumps up, ready with pain killers and water. Stan downs the pill with a glass full of water. 

Taking a deep breath, he rubs his eyes- trying to keep his mind off the pain lingering in the side of his face. Kenny wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. He ignores the tv, watching the rain paint the window- blurring the trees. The scene is almost picturesque; Kenny and him shoulder to shoulder with the sound of rain under horrible jokes and Kenny's bubbly laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary is from the song 'joining the dots' cause I couldn't come up with one myself. 
> 
> Aaaaaand I have nothing else planned for this so I don't know when the next chapter will be posted (also kind of losing motivation)
> 
> Thanks for reading and Please tell me what you think :-)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song 'it's hard to get around the wind'


End file.
